Dear Wandering Poet,
I pray you find your muse.
That you over turn a stone where your babbling brook dried up and are washed with the written word.

my fingers are like matches

because everything I touch turns to ash.

I swear my intentions are golden

and my goals are pure.

but I can’t seem to keep from burning bridges

and speaking singed words.

We could be eternal
if fate didn't rest in our
crumbling lungs. The stars in your
eyes will eventually turn to
dust, but know that right
now the imprints of
constellations on your skin
are the brightest object
in the night.

Every story ends and even
heroes die.

But know there's something divine
in the heart-palpitating chaos of
everlasting
stillness.

May
wild beauty
in these decaying
words
be what I leave behind.

I'm filled with peaceful rage
Wanting to paint bullets in your eyes
whilst I kiss poems onto your lids

Wanting to un-man you
whilst you make love to me

Leaving you in trembling pain
whilst I hold you close to me as the sun rises

I guess I won that stupid fight of "I love you more."

I almost texted you good morning but I didn't because without you in my life a good morning doesn't exist.